Accidentally Amy(8)

He heard a bag rustling and asked, “Is that a fast-food bag I hear?”
“Charles Ingalls would never put me on the spot like that, as a gentleman never asks,” she said, “But if you must know, you are correct - McDonalds is in my lap this very minute.”
“Lucky.” He couldn’t think of the last time he’d had fast food. “I had a Clif bar for dinner.”
“As someone who recently dabbed your chest for an uncomfortable, yet not unenjoyable, length of time,” she said. “I can say with certainty that there is no way would your pecs be that spectacular if you filled them with trans fats and French fries.”
“Did you just compliment my pecs?”
“Settle down - it’s just an observation. No different than there’s a book, that is a car, those are spectacular pectorals.”
He wasn’t sure how she was making him laugh when she’d stressed the hell out of him earlier, but he scratched Goodyear's head and said, “I’m taking it as a compliment, no matter what you say.”
“Suit yourself. Honest question - can you do a one-handed push-up?”
“Probably…?”
“Fascinating. I will file that little morsel away to revisit later.” She made a noise in her throat and said, “Okay - third fact about me. Also, I hope you’re preparing yours.”
“My what?”
“Your five facts, Phillips. This is important.”
“I never said that I would--”
“Number three,” she said, using the same tone a teacher would use if a student were interrupting, “I’m a little obsessed with Reylo fanfic.”
He said, “I'll be honest - I don’t know what those words mean.”
“You don’t know what fanfic is?” she asked.
“I mean, sort of," he said. "It’s just, like, people making up new stories about existing works, right?”
“Yes.” She sounded a little impressed as she said, “And Reylo pertains to stories about Kylo Ren and Rey.”
“From Star Wars?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t really understand, but he said, “Ah. Okay.”
“Obviously you don’t understand and that’s fine. I’ll be sure to say “Ah - okay” about your number three when your turn comes around.”
“I’m not--”
“Number four,” she barked out, a smile in her voice, “I grew up here, have one older brother who finds me to be generally annoying, and I was briefly famous in eighth grade when a video of me falling down my school’s stairs went viral.”
“I will need a link or it isn’t true,” he said, turning his head so he didn't get a mouthful of tail as Goodyear started walking in circles on his chest, trying to get comfortable.
“Sending right now,” she laughed, and his phone buzzed with a text notification. “But if you make fun of my hair, I swear to everything holy that I will shank you with an ice pick.”
“Do you have an ice pick?” he asked.
“Of course not - does anyone? Has anyone in the history of life ever needed an ice pick, other than, um, ice harvesters?”
“I don’t think ice harvester is a thing," Blake said.
“Agree to disagree. Okay. Are you ready for number five?”
“I don’t know - am I?”
“You can’t be.”
“Then I’m not.”
“All right.” It sounded like she let out a huge breath before she said, “Number five. I totaled my car last year when I sneezed on the interstate.”
He shook his head and couldn’t not smile. Again. “Yeah - I’m gonna need more information.”
“My foot involuntarily slammed on the brakes when I sneezed," she explained, "which caused a Honda CRV to rear-end my Civic, which pushed me into the side of a Ford Expedition.”
“Is it weird that I’m impressed by your recollection of the makes and models of the vehicles involved?” he asked, laughing against his will.
“Not at all - I am incredibly impressive and you are right to feel that way.”
“Not what I said," he countered.
“I know it's what you meant," she replied. "Okay now you."
“No, thank you.”
“Then I’ll ask you five questions.”
“Do I have a choice here?" he asked, knowing he needed to end the conversation and get off the damn phone. But - dammit - there was just something about her that made him want to linger.
“Okay – number one. Where did you grow up, and where did you go to college?”
“That’s two questions,” he replied as other cat appeared in the doorway.
“Since I included both in one sentence, it is one question.”
“Sure it is,” Blake said, moving his arm so Hole could jump on his lap. “I grew up in Omaha, and went to college in Minnesota.”
“Were you in a frat?” she asked.
“No frat but I played basketball.”
“Shut up - so did I!”
“Really?” She hadn’t struck Blake as looking particularly athletic, but maybe that was because he’d been obsessed with her legs in those high heels and had been a little oblivious to pretty much everything else. “Where?”
“LaVista Junior High.”
“So…not in college. Got it. Not entirely relevant, but I’ll allow it.” He was smiling again, dammit. “Tell me everything.”
She told him about how she only went out for basketball in ninth grade because her friend Lindy wanted to, and how she scored a whopping two points over the course of the season. She rambled about running hundreds of laps because of missed free throws, and finished the story with, “Yes, the coaches hated me, but I feel like I might’ve taught them a little something, too.”